


An Unexpected Stranger

by kittycat312



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed III, Assassins vs. Templars, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Injury, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Violence, new chapter each week!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27153893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittycat312/pseuds/kittycat312
Summary: Kira Lawrence was a loyal and committed Assassin. However, when she is captured by the Templars, and becomes acquainted with Haytham, their Grand Master, she realises that everything she has been taught is questionable, and she is left to choose between the path she'd always thought she'd follow, or a different path entirely.
Relationships: Haytham Kenway/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue- A New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> So this is a work I started back in 2015 on Fanfic.net, and have been gradually adding to ever since. Recently revived it and decided I wanted to post it on here too! It's currently up to 20 chapters, just over 60,000 words, and I'll be posting a chapter a week on here until I'm caught up. Please bear with the earlier chapters! My writing has come a long way in five years, I promise it gets better. :P 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy though! Pls comment and let me know what you think! :)

It was a beautiful morning. The sun beamed brightly from the cloudless sky above, finding a way through the canopy the forest, and piercing any shadows which lay dormant underneath. It was the start of spring, and for Kira Lawrence, the start of a new year. She had never considered the calendar's first months the new year, for they were no different from the months that had preceded them. Spring was a time for change, and the forest which surrounded her began to once again brim with the sense of life that winter so simply seemed to neglect.

For Kira, there was suddenly so much to see, hear and feel. She spied a deer a short distance away, trotting peacefully along, its pelt shimmering in the dappled light as it so similarly rejoiced in this new world. A world which seemed to have been lost for such a long time. Kira ambled slowly across a worn dirt path, her keen eyes observing all that surrounded her. She smiled to herself and sighed quietly, grateful for the serenity that she had found. She could wander like this forever, she thought, without a trouble or care in the world. It was truly a perfect day, and one which, it seemed, could not be spoiled. The scent of fresh grass and the colours of infinite new flowers overwhelmed her senses, and she allowed her thoughts to be fully occupied with the beauty of the world around her.

The leaves above her rustled tellingly- a warning perceived just a moment too late.

Suddenly she felt a person's weight drop onto her back, and she was soon sprawled on the ground, with a much more intimate view of the grass she had moments ago been admiring. She had been- rather effectively- pinned to the forest floor. Her arms were held tightly by her head, and despite struggling to escape her attacker's grasp, she found she could not break loose. She gave in to their force and lay defeated beneath them. It had been worth a try, at least.

"That," spoke the attacker teasingly, "was far too easy." The weight shifted from her back as they moved to stand behind her. She turned onto her back, propped herself up with her elbows, and steadily met the gaze of a familiar friend. He smiled at her as he offered a hand, which she gratefully accepted. "You were not concentrating," he remarked as he watched her begin to brush off the litter of leaves and grass that her dress had accumulated.

"In all honesty, Connor," she spoke, "I'd quite forgotten about our game."

"Our game? It is much more than that."

"Then I am sorry to have spoiled such an important training exercise. I'll pay more attention next time, you have my word." She spoke good-naturedly and yet somewhat irritably, and he couldn't help but be amused by her tone. Satisfied that she had restored her dress, Kira allowed the young man a genuine smile, before continuing on her walk, content to have someone to share it with. Connor walked alongside her quietly, respectful of the fact she did not wish for conversation.

They wandered for what felt like hours, and before long, were both greeted by a familiar building standing before them. They stopped to consider the manor, before Connor turned to his companion and spoke for the first time since they had initially met that morning. "I wonder if it will be time for breakfast yet." He paused to study the position of the sun. "I'd say it is."

"Yes," Kira agreed. "I hope Achilles will be there to enjoy it with us. Did he say if he was going out?"

"No, but I cannot imagine he would be anywhere else than at home at such an hour," Connor replied. In agreement of this assumption, they both headed towards the building. Before they had even reached the door it was opened for them, and they were met by the figure of the man that had been the subject of their recent conversation. "Good morning, Achilles," Kira chimed pleasantly, and Connor likewise greeted his mentor.

The old man nodded to both, before smiling warmly. "Connor," he said, "Come. I have something to show you."

Kira watched her friend follow him obediently, and, knowing he was headed for more inevitable combat training, decided she was not needed. She had learnt the bulk of it all before. Noting that breakfast was obviously out of the question, she headed into the house to prepare something for herself. She reckoned it would be an hour, at least, until Connor would join her again, and she had no doubt he would be eager to demonstrate some new-learnt skill. She sighed, deciding to abandon breakfast in favour of training herself. After all, she couldn't let Connor get ahead of her. He had beaten her once already today, and she wouldn't allow that to happen again.


	2. A Late Night Visit

Kira watched from the sitting room window as the rain cascaded down around the manor. It was ten o'clock in the evening, and all signs of the welcoming outdoors she had earlier been exploring had vanished. The world had changed once more, and this time, for the worse. She turned from the window and faced Connor and Achilles, who both sat at chairs facing towards the recently lit fireplace. "The sooner we find out what the Templars are planning, the better," Achilles was saying. "It has been a month at least since we received any news of their activities."

"It has been difficult, Achilles. I have followed several leads, all of which I've found to be false, or have just led to another dead end. Whatever the Templars are planning, they're planning discreetly," Connor replied, shaking his head. The fire crackled before them and they both stared into it thoughtfully, considering what they could do next, and what options they had.

"What about you, Kira? Have you any news?" Achilles asked, turning to her as she moved across the room to take a seat beside them.

"No," she answered, settling down. "I have been busy with other things. Although I can travel to Boston tomorrow and speak to Paul Revere, if you'd like. Perhaps he will know something."

"Perhaps," Achilles answered. "Perhaps not. Either way, it is worth a try."

"Good, then I shall go in the morning."

The conversation continued for another half hour. It switched between the Templars and their plans, the progress of both Kira and Connor's training, and finally, to the manor in which they sat, which was in dire need of renovations. They had just settled on a suitable amount of timber- which Connor would purchase and retrieve the next day- when the room grew quiet with the absence of rainfall. Kira stood and once more walked to the window, gazing at the sky to study the clouds. "It will start raining again soon," she observed, "I think it would be best for me to take my leave now, whilst it has receded. I'd like to get home before it starts again." Her small house lay on the very outskirts of Boston, and on horseback, was only a short journey away. It was possible that if she left now, she would reach it before the poor weather maintained its course.

"That would indeed be sensible, yes. Unless you would prefer to stay here for the night?" Achilles offered, as he rose from his chair.

"No, thank you." She watched him rise slowly to his feet. "Please, do not feel obliged to see me out," she smiled kindly, wishing not to burden the old man.

He shook his head. "That's quite alright. Although I myself would like to retire. You should do so too, Connor."

The young man in question stood, nodding in agreement. He watched Kira bid goodnight to Achilles and leave the room, soon after deciding to follow her to the door. She turned to face him, grateful for the escort, as she retrieved her coat and pulled it over her shoulders. "I shall return tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully I'll have a lead on the Templars when I return." She stepped outside, the cold air finding a way through her clothing immediately, causing a shiver to crawl up her spine. She turned to Connor once more. "Goodnight," she spoke warmly.

"Goodnight."

As she turned away, she heard the door close behind her. Suddenly she was alone, in the middle of the night, with the rain threatening to fall any second. Sighing, she made her way to the stables, where she swiftly mounted her horse. Trotting slowly to the road which she would need to take to Boston, she stared ahead, her eyes only barely adjusting to the dark. It was a short journey, she assured herself. But somehow, she knew it would feel a lot longer.

…

It was a sudden knocking at her door which aroused Kira from her thoughts, as she sat comfortably in an armchair, a book upon her lap. She had arrived home safely, and although knowing she was in need of rest, had felt too awake to retire to bed. Instead, she had settled on a book to read, and it was from this activity that she was disturbed. Glancing at her clock, she noted the time. It was half past two in the morning, or thereabouts. She wondered who could be knocking at her door at such an hour as she placed the book to the side, and stood reluctantly to answer it. At first she walked at a sluggish pace, but when the knock was repeated, and this time more urgently, her pace quickened. Having reached it, she proceeded to unlock the bolt, and soon the door was thrust open to reveal two men. They quickly pushed her aside, closing the door forcefully behind them. Their breaths were heavy, as if they had just been running, and they glanced at each other before turning to the woman whose house they had just entered.

Kira, taken aback by the suddenness of their entrance, retreated slightly to observe the two men, who were obviously in some sort of trouble. One had black hair, pulled into a rough ponytail behind his head, and piercing blue eyes. Yet it was not this man who drew her attention, but the other instead. He had dark brown hair, greying slightly, which appeared almost black in the low light. He was well-dressed; he wore on his head a tricorn hat, a deep navy colour, which matched the rest of his attire. He was a handsome man- but it was not this that drew her to him. It was instead his distinct resemblance to her friend and fellow assassin, Connor. Were it not for this, she could recognise them both from the portraits which Achilles had helpfully mounted in the manor's basement. They had been in her house for thirty seconds, at most, and already she knew exactly who, and more importantly, what, they were.

They were both wounded, and although these wounds were hardly fatal, she could tell they both were in need of medical help. She hid her recognition of them to the best of her ability, and stepped towards them reluctantly. "May… may I help you?" she stammered, playing the part of a terrified woman as well as she could.

Haytham Kenway threw her an inquisitive glance before regarding the house around him. "Yes," he spoke with a strong and clear British accent, "would you be adverse to us staying here for a short while? We are in a bit of trouble, as I am sure you have observed." He smiled kindly at their new host, having no wish to frighten her any more than he had already. After receiving a nervous nod in response, he addressed his companion, who was taking the time to admire the woman standing terrified before them. "Charles, perhaps you could locate some alcohol and bandages? We are certainly in need of them."

"Yes, Master Kenway," Charles Lee replied, turning to ask the woman where such things could be found.

"I keep them in the kitchen" she answered, pointing a shaking hand in the direction of the room. "Here, I'll take you."

They followed her through to the kitchen, where she leant against a kitchen counter and gestured towards a cupboard. "You'll find alcohol, and some bandages, in there."

Kira maintained a fearful façade, and as the two men were distracted in retrieving the items, her hand slipped silently into the kitchen draw against which she was leaning. Steadily, she withdrew a small, yet sharp, kitchen knife. She concealed it in her sleeve, just as the gentlemen found what they were looking for and turned away from the cupboard. Charles moved closer to her as his master began to pour alcohol across a large cut on his left arm. He held out a different bottle to Kira, and, after she had taken it, turned to reveal a large gash below his left shoulder, bleeding heavily. "Would you mind?" he asked, grinning. "I'd do it myself, but that would be rather difficult."

"Of course." She laughed nervously, before moving closer to the man's back. Glancing at Haytham, who appeared to be fully occupied with his own wounds, she quietly allowed the knife to slip into her hand. She began to raise it towards Charles, who was entirely oblivious to the danger he was in.

A thud, and the knife clattered as it fell to the floor. Kira found herself pinned painfully against the kitchen wall, and Haytham held her there, one hand around her throat, the other forcing the hand which had previously gripped her knife by her head. She glared defiantly into his eyes, fighting with all of her strength to escape his grasp, but it was too strong. She couldn't help but be impressed by the man's strength, and the quickness with which he had so effectively restrained her. She cursed herself for having not been more careful. Charles spun around, still unaware of the attempt that had just been made on his life. "Sir!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing?"

"She's an Assassin," Haytham hissed, his eyes never leaving hers. Her eyes flashed with surprise as he spoke, confirming that which he already knew to be true.

"Are you certain?" his companion asked, and he nodded briefly.

"Yes," he said, thinking of how he had watched her moments ago raising a knife to Charles's back, and knowing only an Assassin would attack them unprovoked with such guile. "I am."

Charles glanced at the woman, almost regretfully, before drawing his flintlock pistol. "A pity," he spoke with mock displeasure, any true sign of remorse now absent from his tone. He took a moment to examine his weapon, a sadistic glint in his eye, as though he were deliberately trying to draw the moment out. Apparently satisfied, he raised it tortuously slowly to her head.

Haytham said nothing, instead taking a moment to study the woman's face. She had stopped fighting him, though her hands still grasped his, ready to escape at the first chance she found. Were his focus inclined to wane, or his grip to accidentally slacken, she would have the opportunity she needed. Unfortunately for her, he was prone to neither such weakness. He felt her tense beneath his hold- her breath catch in her throat- and his attention was drawn to where hers now rested: on the trigger of Charles's gun. The man's finger had settled on it meaningfully.

"No," Haytham said suddenly, stealing the attention back. "I have questions for her. She might yet prove useful."

Relief flooded through Kira at the statement, for as ominous as it was, she'd rather that than the sound of a gunshot. She was dropped choking to the floor, gasping for air and fighting to calm the waves of adrenaline that coursed through her.

A voice came commandingly from above her. "Charles, find something with which we can bind her hands. We'll take her back with us."

"But-"

"Now."

Obediently, Charles lowered his gun and nodded his head. "Yes, sir." Casting one last glance at the Assassin whom his master had just spared, he turned and walked away, in pursuit of the aforementioned object.

Having recovered a little, Kira had watched as Haytham addressed Charles, contemplating her potential options. Her mind flicked briefly back to the sound of a clattering knife, and spurred by the memory, she had soon spied it lying a few feet away. It would be a reach, and she would have to be fast. Her mind then replayed the ruthless efficiency with which she had been pinned to the wall. She would have to be very fast. She reflected on the potential outcomes, eyeing the distance between her and it, estimating her chances. Perhaps if she-

She paused, the uneasy feeling of being watched settling over her. She glanced up and was met with Haytham's suspicious gaze. Hoping not to betray her intentions, she settled for narrowing her eyes at him defiantly- a gesture which was quickly matched, much to her own annoyance. Surprisingly, he broke the gaze, and she revelled in this small victory. It was short-lived, however, as he regarded the knife that lay not far from his feet. He looked between her and it, connecting the dots, and she was certain he would kick it away. Instead, he simply turned to her, his expression a cross between a warning and a dare.

He was challenging her. She fought the urge to lunge for the knife out of sheer spite. For the sake of self-preservation, she decided to swallow her pride, and shot him a look of begrudging submission.

Haytham reached to draw his sword, a faint glow of triumph in his eyes. He turned the hilt towards her, taking a purposeful step forwards, a sardonic smile spreading across his face. "My apologies."

In a flash he had struck her, and her head seared like fire with the pain of the blow. Still coming to terms with everything that had just occurred, she crumpled to her side, and waited as her world faded into black.


	3. A Familiar Face

When Kira awoke, the first thing she noticed was how foggy the world around her was. The prison cell in which she now found herself lying appeared to have been swamped with some sort of strange mist, which although she knew was a creation of her mind, threatened to choke her at any second. She raised a pale hand to the side of her head, which ached with a now dull and yet still unbearable pain. It was where Haytham had struck her, she seemed to recall, as the events of the previous night began to form themselves in her mind. She pressed her fingertips to her temple and massaged it softly in an attempt to lessen the pain that rested there; he must have hit her harder than she thought.

As the fog around her began to clear, Kira took a moment to survey her surroundings. She had been lying on a tattered mattress which was caked with mud, and other substances she didn't wish to think about. The walls around her were stone, and likewise, the floor was paved and had since been covered in a layer of dirt and dust. At the front of the room were sturdy, and yet somewhat worn, prison bars. She stood, her hand still pressed to her head, and glanced out of a small window which lay amongst the stone of the wall furthest from the bars. It was beginning to grow dark outside, and it struck Kira just how long she had truly been unconscious for.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a deafening sound, which brought back the searing pain in her head which she thought she had banished. Taking a moment to hold her head tighter, the pain now almost overwhelming, she turned quickly to the source of the noise. It was a key, turning the lock in the door of her cell. She frowned at how such a small sound had appeared to be so much greater. A guard was unlocking the door, and then proceeded to pull it open. For a moment, it crossed Kira's mind that she had a chance to escape. She turned herself towards the door, taking a step forwards, considering the opportunity she had been provided with. But as her head swam with a new dizziness, formed from her one small advancement, she acknowledged she was in no position to try. She would be too vulnerable, too unable to fight for herself. It wasn't worth the risk.

She managed to reach the right-side wall of her cell, and leant against it, grateful for the support. The stone felt like ice as the coldness of it seeped through the thin sleeve of her dress, and the suddenness of this sent a shiver down her spine. She stared at the ground below her, trying to stable her mind, trying to get a hold on what was happening, and trying to think clearly. As the fogginess that clouded her thoughts began to once more clear, she became aware of the sound of footsteps, at first approaching, and now entering her cell. They stopped, and she heard the creak of the door as it was closed behind her visitor, who she could now sense was watching her, waiting for her to make the first move.

She didn't. She did nothing, just continued to stare down at her feet, for this was the only thing she felt she had strength for. After a minute of silence, the visitor must have grown impatient. They took a step forwards and spoke suddenly, breaking the silence, and also somewhat shattering the stability Kira had just created in her mind. Haytham Kenway's voice struck her almost as hard as his sword's hilt had, the night before. "Good evening." He said, simply, "It is good to see you are finally awake."

She waited a moment, recovering slightly, and gathering her thoughts. She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his for the first time since she had gained consciousness. He wasn't displaying any emotion at all, he just met her gaze, expectantly, and awaited her answer. "Good evening." She replied, wanting desperately instead to have said something clever, something to make her sound so much less fragile then she felt. At present she struggled to think of any such remark.

Haytham could clearly see how weak her last encounter with him had left her, and so gestured to the ground. "Perhaps you had better sit down."

He didn't receive a reply- he hadn't expected to- instead she just nodded slightly in agreement, and then slowly lowered herself to the floor. Once she had settled, she looked up at him warily, but this time he saw at least a slight strength in her when she spoke. "What do you want from me, Mr. Kenway?"

"Answers." His tone was curt, with an underlying sense of threat. "I have no intention of wasting my time, nor yours. Answer my questions to sufficiency, and I will allow you to leave."

Once more no reply came, and he took this as a prompt to continue. "We will start with your name, Miss…?"

He was met with laughter, though where she found the strength for it, he didn't know. "I am not answering any of your questions, Mr Kenway," she said, her head shaking in amusement.

He sighed, a little frustrated at her clear desire to be uncooperative. He should have known better than to hope for an Assassin not going out of their way to be difficult. "Look," he began to explain, "can you not see yourself? You have barely the strength to stand, let alone fight." He stopped, drawing his sword to emphasise his point. "I do not want to have to kill you. But if you do not answer my questions, you will leave me no choice."

There was a menace in his voice that wasn't there before, and a sincerity she couldn't deny. He spoke calmly- softly, even- but there was an impatience in his tone that suggested he was in no mood for games. His sword glinted in the little light provided by the few lamps outside of the cell, and he held it with confident composure. He was right, for looking up at him now, she didn't fancy her chances in opposing him.

"Let's try again, shall we?" He lilted a little playfully. "Your name, Miss…?"

She waited a moment before replying. She would not lose her life over a few questions, but if she was going to sacrifice her integrity, she was taking some of his precious time with her. "Lawrence. Kira Lawrence." She said finally, regretting every syllable she uttered.

In return for her answer, Haytham sheathed his sword quickly, startling her slightly with the suddenness of this action. "Good. Now we're getting somewhere." He paused before pressing on with his next question. "Of what age are you, Miss Lawrence?"

She glowered. "Does that matter?"

"Not particularly," he taunted, toying with her a little before continuing more pragmatically. "Then again, a person's age is an excellent gauge of their experience, and thus, the threat they pose."

The logic of these words only furthered Kira's reluctance to answer the question. She sighed, irritably, reminding herself of her ultimate goal to simply survive this interrogation. "I am six and thirty."

He regarded her, quirking an eyebrow in apparent surprise. He had presumed her to be a little younger, though he could credit this to either her looks or her youthful spirit. He allowed himself a moment to admire just how beautiful she was. Her long brunette hair cascaded freely over her shoulders and down her back, loose and dishevelled from the poor quality of her sleep. Her deep brown eyes burnt with the same defiance he had already began to be accustomed to, the passion behind their glow apparent, despite the low light. There was something undeniably attractive in the expression.

He shook his head subtly, interrupting his own thoughts, and resuming his questioning. "You are obviously British- your accent makes that clear. So what are you doing in here, in America?"

"I might ask you the same question." She had noticed him previously admiring her, and couldn't help finding it mildly amusing. After receiving a warning look, she proceeded to answer the question, properly this time. "I am British. My mother died not long after I was born, and my father was killed when I was fourteen. With no other close family in England, I decided to make the journey to America, for I heard the Assassins were prospering here."

"So you have been training as an Assassin here for over twenty years now. Who is your mentor? The old man, I presume?"

"If you mean Achilles, then yes."

Haytham began to ask something else, but before he was given the chance, he was disturbed by the presence of someone outside of the cell. "I am sorry to interrupt, Grand Master, but if we don't leave now, we shall be late."

Kira recognised the man immediately as Charles Lee, and turned to eye him suspiciously. Haytham frowned, before he recalled what Charles was referring to and smiled, good-naturedly. "Of course, yes. It had quite slipped my mind."

He walked to door, waited for the guard to open it, and headed towards his companion. He made out that he was getting ready to leave, and noticed that Charles was staring at the captive Assassin. "Sir," the man asked, "aren't you forgetting something?"

Haytham followed his gaze, before approaching the cell once more, looking through the bars at the woman who was now finding herself able to stand. "No, Charles. That I hadn't forgotten." He raised his voice to now address the person in question. "Miss. Lawrence? I have one final question for you."

She looked into his eyes, expectantly. "Yes?"

"Are you a threat to the Templar cause?"

It was an odd question, one that seemed designed to catch her out in some way. She pondered over it for a moment. "I certainly hope so," she eventually shrugged, never one to back away from a challenge. "If I am not, then I shall gladly admit to have having wasted the past twenty two years of my life."

She looked at Haytham, who, after what felt like an eternity of showing no emotion whatsoever, smiled, satisfied.

"Good. You may go."

The door was opened, and Kira tentatively exited the cell, afraid that this was some sort of trick, and expecting the situation to turn at any moment. When it didn't, she struggled to understand why plainly admitting to being a threat had granted her liberty. It was something to be reflected on, once she was rid of this place and had cleared her head. A guard was tasked with escorting her from the premises, and she followed him, tensing as she passed Haytham and Charles. Still, they didn't stop her. Charles waited until she was out of sight before turning to his master, confused by his actions. "Sir, why have you let her go? She is a threat, she said so herself."

Haytham stared after the woman, before adjusting his hat which had fallen slightly sideways on his head. He didn't look at Charles as he responded, matter-of-factly. "Because she is of much greater use to us free than she is imprisoned here." He paused before continuing. "Now, let's be off, shall we?"


	4. Unarmed In The Frontier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am going to post two chapters this week as they're both pretty short, hope you enjoy! :)

When the guard escorting Kira had guided her to the exit of the Templar fort that she had found herself imprisoned in, she realised that she was in some part of Boston. Quite where, she wasn't sure, but she was certain she could find her way once she got her bearings. Nodding appreciatively at the guard, she stepped reluctantly towards the street ahead, glancing back, as if expecting to be stopped. She still couldn't understand why she had been freed, but she realised that she might as well get as far from this place as possible, before Haytham changed his mind.

As soon as she reached the first building of the street, she darted around the corner of it quickly and into a back alley. After assuring herself that she wasn't being followed, she walked on, in hope that she would find herself somewhere she would be familiar with. Her pace was slow, for she was still greatly affected by her head injury, but she walked quickly enough to cover good ground. The dark was settling on Boston rapidly, and she found herself swamped in shadows soon enough. The air was cold and crisp, and crawled through her clothes slowly, drifting across her skin. Eventually she stumbled into a street she knew, and from there, began the long journey back towards the frontier. If she was unconscious for as long as she thought she was, then Connor and Achilles would have realised something was wrong by now, and may be out looking for her. For this reason, she thought it best to return to the manor as opposed to her own home, even if the journey was longer.

Boston was a different place at night than it was in the day. The hustle and bustle of the streets had ebbed to silence and stillness, and the absence of the voices of town criers and market sellers made this even more apparent. The town seemed empty, even though Kira knew of all the people who slept or wondered about behind the multitude of closed doors; she couldn't begin to imagine what went on within the surrounding houses. Still, it added an air of mystery to the town, and contributed somewhat to its charm. Despite this, Kira couldn't wait to see the city filled with the sounds and sights of life again.

…

The Frontier however, was a different place entirely. Like Boston, it had its appeal, but it possessed a certain darkness that the city didn't, an untamed and wild danger, which was reflected in every tree, plant and animal. It could be a beautiful place, truly, but at night, it was impossible to guess what each shadow could conceal. It was this that kept Kira alert and wary of her surroundings as she crossed through it. She was still a long way from the manor, but with every footstep, she knew she was getting closer. Spurred on by this, despite the risks that lay in wait, she pushed on for what felt like hours, despite only being minutes.

She was reflecting on her experience as a Templar prisoner when her thoughts were interrupted by a low growl, which came from some low bushes ahead of her. She stopped immediately, backing away a few steps, with her eyes scanning over the foliage before her. It didn't take long for her to spy a pair of eyes, glowing like small moons in the darkness. The growl was repeated, this time louder, closer, as a wolf prowled from its cover. It bared its teeth, eyes glaring, as its fur shone in the sudden touch of the moonlight. Wolves hunted in packs, Kira knew that, but she couldn't see or hear any others. Swallowing hard, she conceded they were probably nearby. She reached slowly for her dagger, usually kept sheathed in her belt, before realising its absence. She cursed to herself, realising what a poor decision it had been to come here, let alone unarmed. She really hadn't been thinking clearly at all.

Looking around, but still being wary of the proximity of the animal confronting her, she considered her options. She could run, or try to, at least. But she couldn't outrun the wolf, it would be a pointless effort; it would be on top of her in seconds, especially in her current condition. Having discarded the idea of running, she considered climbing a nearby tree. It could work, but her chances of successfully climbing out of the wolf's reach in time were small. She was still weak, and knew she hadn't the strength required to escape in that way.

Before she had any more time to make a decision, the wolf lurched forward, growling wildly. It pinned her to the floor, and she wrestled with it, holding its throat at as much of a distance as she could. With all of her efforts, it wasn't enough. It was stronger than her, and it quickly began to close the distance between her head and its teeth. They shone like small white daggers, sharp and lethal, and now only inches away from her face. She was overwhelmed by the animal's breath, which stung with heat and clouded her eyes. It snapped at her, bearing down, closer and closer, forcing her to close her eyes. She inhaled sharply, waiting for the moment that her strength would fail her. Her arms shook violently under the weight of the wolf, to the point where they were numb with pain.

Suddenly, the animal yelped, painfully, and she felt the weight above of her shift. It was still there, but the wolf was no longer fighting her. Opening her eyes, she was met by the sight of its own: dull, and bereft of the hunger they had previously possessed. The wolf was dead. Pushing it off of her, she scrambled to her feet. Staring down at its body, she took a moment to find her breath. The animal looked peaceful, as though asleep, but Kira quickly observed an arrow, lodged firmly in the side of its head. Before she could turn to face the direction from which the arrow had come, she heard movement in the bushes behind her.

"Kira?" The voice rang clear, and she recognised it immediately. Spinning around, she watched as Connor emerged from his cover, barely visible in the darkness. He approached her, noticing her obvious condition, and took her arm supportively. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, staring at him, almost through him, as she took his arm with her free hand and used it to steady herself. "I… I just… We need to talk." She said, shakily, as her breath began to resume its usual pace.

"We are not far from the manor. We should return, we can talk there," he reasoned. She nodded again, and allowed him to lead her away from the dead wolf.

…

"So, they let me go." Kira finished her account of the past two evenings as Connor listened, eagerly. They sat before the portraits of the Templars which Achilles had mounted on the wall of the basement, Connor on a chair, and Kira on the wooden table which stood below them. She had recovered from her ordeal, and stared up at the pictures, curiously.

Connor followed her gaze, equally intrigued by why she had been let go. If there was one thing he had been certain of, it was that the Templars were the last people to show mercy on anyone, let alone an Assassin. "I do not understand," he mused, quietly. "If they knew you were an Assassin, why didn't they kill you? Like they have always killed others?"

"I wish I knew."

They were interrupted by footsteps, as Achilles trod slowly down the stairs to join them. It was the early morning now, but had been late when Kira and Connor had arrived; they had decided it would be best not to wake their mentor. Now he was awake, he had stumbled upon the conclusion of their conversation. "The Templars think that you will be of some use to them, Kira. That is why they let you go."

Kira stood up defensively as her mentor joined them. "Then they are fools. There is nothing that could ever convince me to help them."

Despite her remark, Achilles shook his head dismissively. "I know. But Haytham is intelligent. Manipulative. He will no doubt approach you for something, but you must say no, no matter what he tells you."

Connor listened of his father, wondering whether or not Haytham could truly trick Kira into helping him. He knew his father to be a dangerous man, and he'd experienced first-hand what the Templars were capable of. But still, Kira would never help them. Of that he could be certain.

And so was she, for she disregarded Achilles with a wave of her hand. Frustrated, she pushed past him and headed towards the stairs, not looking back. "Morning or not, I'm going to rest. Please, do not disturb me."

They watched her go, knowing it was pointless to try and stop her. Connor shrugged it off, saying goodbye to his mentor and also departing, having decided to engage in some early morning hunting.

As Connor ascended the stairs, Achilles looked up at the portrait of Haytham. He rubbed his forehead irritably, for on hearing Kira's story, he had realised what the man was up to. He didn't like it; he'd never been surer of something in his life.


	5. The Thief's Diary

It had been a month since Kira's ordeal, and sufficient time for her to rid herself of the fragility she felt she had somewhat sustained throughout it. It had been a successful few weeks, for both her and Connor. Tax collectors had been stopped, several lives saved, and some less-deserving lives taken away. Granted, there had been no news of the Templars, but Kira viewed this positively, grateful for it even, as they were the last people she wanted on her mind. It was all of this that she reflected on now, as she sat, unaccompanied, at a small table in the Golden Oak Inn. The inn was relatively new, but the owners seemed welcoming enough, and it was a pleasant place to spend an evening. The location of it also contributed to its practicality, for Connor had asked Kira to meet him at the docks in an hour, and it was near to these that it was situated. It wasn't too late; around eight o'clock, and the inn was already bustling with a variety of people. The air was thick with the sounds of voices and laughter, and the all-too-tempting smell of food, emanating from both the kitchen and the customer's plates. Kira greatly considered getting something for herself, but decided to leave it for another time.

Instead, she settled on just a glass of wine, and it was this that she sipped at as she pondered over her next mission- the one she was meeting with Connor to discuss. She wasn't certain about what it actually was- Connor had been vague with the details- but she knew it involved a criminal, who had been posing as a tax collector and using his disguise to collect citizen's taxes. Kira knew they would be retrieving the money and returning it to the community, but whether or not the thief would be allowed to live, she didn't know. Still- it should be an interesting enough endeavour.

She stared down at the table, lost in thought, as she heard footsteps approaching her table. She listened as the opposite chair was dragged backwards, and someone sat down onto it, saying nothing. Whoever it was, they were staring intently at her. She sighed- she was often approached by men, and usually she found them entertaining enough- but she wasn't in the mood. She looked up across the table, already thinking of something to say to discourage the gentleman, and instead was greeted not by a stranger, but the very Templar she'd been trying to forget.

Haytham Kenway smiled, nonchalantly. "Good evening, Miss Lawrence." His eyes sparkled with amusement at seeing the surprise beginning to etch itself onto her face.

She sat in stunned silence, for a moment, as she came to terms with what was happening. Having composed herself, she coolly met his gaze. "Good evening, Mr Kenway." Her eyes darted discreetly to his hands, ensuring that if he made some sort of movement for a weapon, she would be ready for it. He noticed this, and held up both hands in the air.

"Look, I am not here to fight you. I just wish to talk." He sounded almost amused by the whole situation, and if he felt threatened by her at all, he made no point of showing it. He examined her reaction, looking for any sign of what she might do next. He didn't think she would attack him- it would be incredibly reckless of her- but still, he kept a subtle watch on any movements she made. You could never be too careful.

Kira didn't trust him. She knew what she was supposed to do, and that was to get up and leave, immediately. After all, this was the man her mentor had always warned her about. Achilles had predicted this situation, and had given her strict instructions that dictated she walk away now before doing anything more. But she was intrigued by the Templar; she wanted to see what it was he had to say, and why he desired her involvement in it. No damage could be done in finding out. With this in her mind, she reluctantly nodded for him to continue, and made a silent apology to her mentor as she did so.

Once Haytham had the Assassin's attention, he leant forwards slightly on his seat, resting his arms on the table before him. "Now," he said, earnestly, "it has come to my attention that you and my son are intending to apprehend a criminal named Johnathan Miller. Is this true?"

It took Kira a moment to identify the name to the thief of whom she had just been thinking. Once she had, she frowned. "Yes. Although I don't yet know how we are planning to go about it, Connor has yet to inform me."

Haytham continued, "Ah, well allow me to inform you. If what my sources say is true, then you must aim to steal back the money he has stolen. That being the case, you will likely be stealing it from his home here in Boston; it is here, you see, that he keeps his fortune. It is also there that I presume you will apprehend the man himself. Would you agree with this so far?"

"It certainly sounds a most sensible way of going about the matter, yes."

"Good, for it is this plan of action that I am relying on you and my son to be taking. Truth be told, Miss Lawrence, I am here to ask for your help."

Haytham knew how she would react, and she didn't disappoint. As soon as he'd spoken the words, a grin had spread across her face, and she found herself laughing. "Oh of course, Grand Master, what do you need? I would be most happy to oblige," she teased, sarcastically.

He met her gaze calmly, unaffected by her ridicule. "Look," he sighed, "Miller keeps a journal- a diary- as you will. It is only this that I ask you to retrieve for me. It will not be difficult to find."

Having calmed herself, Kira met his gaze confidently. "Why, is the diary important? What does it contain?"

"I cannot say, but it is of the upmost importance that I obtain it, or in this case, you obtain it for me. What I can promise, however, is that the information concealed therein would in no way aid our opposition to your creed."

Kira listened, and thought, for a moment, before replying. "I'll find your precious diary, Mr Kenway, but I will not give it to you. If it is as important as you say, then I think it best that I destroy it."

For the first time that evening, she saw a look of genuine concern cross his face, just barely, and it was gone in a second. "No," he reasoned, "Miss Lawrence, Charles would have killed you if I hadn't stopped him. You owe me your life, let alone a book which is of no consequence to you."

"I owe you nothing. Do not forget that it was you who told him of my profession."

"You were going to kill him!" He exclaimed, his hand striking the table in anger. Realising what he'd done, he visibly composed himself, before looking meaningfully into her eyes. "What choice did I have?"

She looked at him, knowing there was truth in his words. It certainly seemed to have been an unfortunate coincidence that the two Templars had stumbled into her home, and if that were the case, no one was to blame. Haytham looked calm, collected, with no signs that he had ever acted with any other emotion- almost as if he didn't care how she would answer him. A few people had turned to watch the pair when he had struck the table, but all who had had now resumed their conversations and affairs, the incident entirely forgotten.

Kira raised herself from her chair and prepared to leave for the docks, even if it meant being unnecessarily early. Haytham watched, indifferently almost, and making no move to stop her. She addressed him for a final time. "If I find the journal, then you have my word that I will not destroy it. That being said, I make no promise of bringing it to you. I will make that decision when it needs to be made, and no sooner."

He nodded, appreciatively. "If that is the case, then I wish you the greatest of success in your endeavours."

The woman thanked him, before walking away from the table and towards the door. All around her, people continued as they had done so before. They maintained the constant noise and joviality that she would expect in any inn at this time of night, and were ignorant of everything she had just experienced. She cast one last glance at Haytham before leaving, and he smiled confidently at her as she did so. Outside, the air was cooling and darkness had begun to settle onto the town of Boston. Kira took a few steps before spotting a poster on a nearby wall, which depicted Connor's face, and asked for information on the man and his whereabouts. Approaching it, she chuckled to herself before tearing it down, and tossing it to the floor.

For an Assassin, Connor could be awfully overt in some of his activities, and after taking a moment to pull her coat tighter around her, Kira began the short walk to the docks with the full intention of telling him so.


	6. The Green Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted this as two chapters but figure they work as one? Have no idea why younger me wrote such short chapters- I apologise on her behalf. 😂 Sorry I've been late updating this, have been busy getting ready for Christmas. Hope everyone's staying safe!

"Are you ready?"

"Of course."

"Good, then let's go."

Kira nodded in agreement with her fellow Assassin, before watching him disappear into the alley that lay between two houses nearby. She stood, taking a moment to gaze up at the clouded night sky that she knew concealed so many thousands of stars above, before turning her attention to the building that stood before her. She noted the window, left carelessly open by the owner, through which she would make her entrance. She hadn't lied to Connor; she was anxious to begin their latest endeavour- that of apprehending the man posing as a tax collector- as soon as possible, and impatiently she counted the seconds that passed in her head. Despite her eagerness, she knew that the mission would only be successful if she timed her entrance correctly, to correspond with Connor's own arrival at the rear of the house. He wouldn't be ready, not yet, she thought, as she pictured him surreptitiously lock-picking the back door.

Over the few years she had known him, Kira had grown to adapt to Connor's strengths and his weaknesses. She understood how he operated: which hand he favoured when fighting, his preferred techniques in both attack or defence, and every other act or movement that made him unique as an Assassin. Despite not having the benefit of watching Kira's early years in training, Connor too had come to an understanding of how she worked, fought and acted; and due to this mutual understanding, the two found that they worked together like clockwork.

For this reason, Kira now knew Connor would have picked the lock in the house's rear door. Pulling her hood over her head, she reviewed the plan once more in her mind, before darting towards the building. The window was on the first floor, and after glancing around to ensure no inconveniently placed bystander was watching, she began to scale the structure. She'd previously taken the time to map each foot and hand hold, so her ascent was as swift and effective as possible. The coldness of the red stone bricks with which the house had been constructed stung her already numb fingers as she nimbly reached her destination. She had planned for if the window had been shut, but was grateful that it had been left open. It made for a much more effortless entrance.

She slipped silently inside the house, finding herself in the upstairs hall and staring across at the wooden stairs leading down below. Along and to her right was a closed door, which she believed to be the entrance to the bedroom, and through that, the study. Several Assassin recruits had studied the activities of the household over the previous week, and had provided Kira and Connor with the information that the stolen money was being kept in this study, and also the routine of the few mercenaries who had been hired to guard the rooms.

Creeping alongside the wall, Kira reached the door and carefully pressed her ear to the wood. On the other side, she heard the footsteps of two men, pacing incautiously on the other side. These would be the two guards- one in the bedroom, one in the study- of which she had been informed. From what she had heard, the mercenaries were hard-hitting, but not professional. They shouldn't be difficult to overpower, but she reminded herself of the fact that she was under strict instruction to only incapacitate them temporarily- in short, not to kill any of them, unless entirely necessary.

Keeping this in mind, Kira's hand moved softly to the door's handle, and she grasped it slowly. As she heard the guard in the bedroom move away from her, she turned it and pushed the door open, ever so slightly, and all the time praying it wouldn't make a sound. It didn't, much to her relief, and quietly she stalked into the room, her eyes fixing onto the figure of the first guard as soon as he came into sight. His back was turned to her as he gazed out of a window, his head moving briefly as he surveyed the outside world. At once Kira saw her opportunity, and darted forwards, grateful for the soft rug that lay across the floor which so effectively silenced her footsteps. In an instant she was upon the guard, one hand clasped tightly over his mouth, and her other arm around his neck, slowly cutting the oxygen he needed to breathe.

She held him strongly as he thrashed desperately to get free from her grip. His short and ragged breaths gasped for air against her hand, as she prevented him from crying out to his comrade. Moments later, the same breaths slowed as he drifted into a slumber. The hands which had previously been clawing at her arm now fell away, lying limply at the sides of his body. He was unconscious, yes. But still very much alive.

Kira breathed a sigh of relief as she felt him weaken. She lowered him gently to the floor, being careful to remain as quiet as possible. The door to the study was pulled to, meaning that she could be certain the second guard had not seen her attack. Taking one last look at the unconscious guard, she studied the weapons he carried and his physique- he looked strong, powerful- and like someone she would rather take by surprise than head-on. Presumably the guard next door would be the same sort of build, so she still favoured stealth as her method of confrontation.

It was a good choice, for a minute later, she stood over his now limp body, after having overpowered him in an almost identical way as she had done with the previous guard. The plan was certainly going well so far, as far as she was concerned, anyway- for she could only hope that Connor's part in it had been as successful. She turned her attention to a wooden box which lay on a small table on the opposite side of the room from her. She approached it, her hands reaching for the lid and gliding across the wood to reach a small lock. The box had been varnished and felt smooth under her fingers as she bent down to study it. There was no time now to unlock the box, but after lifting it and testing its weight, Kira was certain it contained Boston's stolen coin.

Smiling to herself, she walked with the box into the bedroom, heading purposefully towards the door. As she passed the bedside table, she stopped, recalling the other reason she was here. Placing the box onto the bed, she turned to the table and pulled out a small draw. After rummaging through some paperwork, soon enough, she was greeted by the sight of a small book, leather-bound, and, after she had flicked through several pages, undoubtedly the journal kept by the fraud tax-collector. Satisfied, she pocketed it quickly into the inside of her coat, before hearing a loud thud from downstairs.

Alarmed, Kira snatched the box from the bed and hurried towards the hall, and from there, down the stairs to the source of the sound. As she reached the room, a sitting-room, she moved the box under one arm, her now-free hand reaching for the dagger sheathed at her side. She drew it sharply as she entered, but lowered it again as she came upon the waiting scene. Connor was stood, hidden blade unsheathed and shining a dark shade of crimson, above the body of a middle-aged looking man. Johnathon Miller, she presumed. The criminal whose house they had just been invading. Connor looked up at her, and on seeing her puzzled expression, sheathed his hidden blade and stepped forward.

"He did not take too lightly to being caught,” he explained, gesturing at the body, a pool of blood now starting to form on the carpet beneath the dead man. "He left me no choice"

"I see," she replied, understandingly. Part of her wanted to press further the fact that she had been careful not to harm the guards upstairs, but she conceded she would probably have done the same thing in his position. She now held the box out to him, the weight of it starting to tire her arms.

"Here. We've got what we came for, at least."

"Is that all of the money?"

"All that there was in the study, yes."

She relaxed her arms as he took the box from her, smiling as he did so. She knew how strongly he felt about returning the money to the people, and how relieved he'd be that they had succeeded in their mission. She watched Connor turn to face the fallen criminal, knowing he took no joy in the man's demise. It would be wrong to take pleasure in killing any man, even one as despicable as this. Kira studied the body, too.

"We should go. It won't be long until one of the guards gains consciousness and comes looking for him, and the money."

In strong agreement, Connor nodded, holding the box tightly and then stepping over the body to head towards the door. He nodded in appreciation at Kira as he passed her, grateful for her assistance in retrieving the box. She smiled back, keeping to herself the fact that she had also got what she'd come for.

...

The pages of the diary felt crisp as Kira flicked through them. She passed the book between her hands, examining it from every angle, moving her fingers across every inch of the dark leather with which it was covered. She stared down at it, quizzically. She didn't understand.

When Haytham had asked her to retrieve the journal, she'd promised she wouldn't destroy it. But now, left with the decision of giving it to him or keeping it to herself, her mind just wouldn't settle on an answer. She had presumed that after reading it- after seeing what it contained- that it would be easy to decide what to do. But the contents had been commonplace. It was a thief's diary, and nothing more. There were no powerful secrets; no insights into anything that the Templars would be interested in. If there had been, then the decision would be easier to make. There would be obvious consequences to whatever Kira decided to do. But it didn't seem as if it would matter, either way.

If it didn't make a difference- to whom the diary belonged- then why did she care? Why had she spent hours over the past days pondering about what to do? Her attention to the whole business was about as senseless to her as Haytham's wanting of the diary seemed to be. Every part of her told her to keep the journal; that if the Templars didn't have it, then nothing could go wrong. But Haytham cared about getting it- cared about something worthless. And Kira wanted to know why. Perhaps it was of value. Perhaps she was missing something. Perhaps some powerful secret really was concealed within. If so, then the book would be far more important than Kira thought, and more dangerous, too.

So she needed to dispose of it then. Just in case.

She held this in mind as she trod along through Boston's streets, searching for a Templar agent. If she disposed of the journal, she would never know that secret that lay concealed inside. If it existed, that is. For now, she decided to let her curiosity overrule her better judgement. She could imagine Achilles scolding her for allowing herself to do so, and prayed that he and Connor would never find out about this. Which wouldn't be for long, if she wasn't careful.

Kira turned into an alley, and looking up, saw a good place to ascend the nearest building. After ensuring no-one was around, she began the short climb, and moments later found herself overlooking Boston's rooftops. It was beautiful- every time. The whole city spread about in front of her, for her to watch. If time had been on her side, she'd have liked to take a minute or two more to admire the scenery. But it wasn't, and after surveying the rooves of the buildings around her, she saw what she'd been looking for. A Templar spy, studying a street below diligently. He wasn't too far, and quietly Kira crossed the rooftops- in all of the ways that she had been taught. Reaching the house on which the man was, she crept forwards, the sound of her footsteps concealed by the buzz of the townsfolk below. She continued on before stopping when the man was within her reach.

In one swift movement she dug her foot deep into the inside of his knee, one arm reaching out to catch his as he lost his balance and fell forwards towards the street. She tugged it sharply to the right, twisting him so he fell instead onto the building, and at her feet. He lay, temporarily stunned as she drew her dagger, crouched, and pressed the blade against his neck.

"Not one movement." She commanded, pressing the blade slightly harder to enforce her point. He nodded slightly, his eyes wide with fear. They pleaded with her silently, and she glared mercilessly back.

"Your Grand Master, where is he?" She asked, unmoved by his desperate gaze. He shook his head, despite his situation.

"I- I can't-''

"Where is he?" She repeated, blood beginning to appear around the edge of her dagger. Grimacing with pain as she pushed harder, he glanced around, before meeting her stare once more.

"Please… They'll kill me.''

"I'll kill you."

She stood abruptly, but before allowing him time to react, put her foot to his knee and pushed it hard to the ground- threatening to break his leg at any second.

"The Green Dragon!" He exclaimed, his face twisted in agony. "Please, you'll find him there. Just don't-''

She bent down, striking the hilt of her dagger against his head, and watched as he fell unconscious. Dragging him behind the nearest chimney, she straightened and looked towards her next destination.

…

Haytham allowed his gaze to sweep over his followers who sat around a table before him. They all looked at him, expectantly, as he leaned forward to address them.

"Gentlemen, we find ourselves in a difficult position. The situation in Boston grows more troublesome each day, and it is with regret that I inform you we are beginning to lack the supplies we need to maintain our current level of control."

"What of Shay Cormac?" Spoke Samuel Pitcairn, his brow furrowed in thought. "It was to my belief that he was due back from Europe with the supplies we need any day now."

"Indeed, he was." Haytham responded grimly. "I recently had word, however, that the weather conditions of late across the Atlantic have been far from optimal. We can expect his arrival to be delayed, indefinitely."

There was a collective grumble of complaint at the remark, and Samuel's gaze went to the table, which he studied as he considered other solutions to the problem. Likewise, his companions all began to discuss further possibilities, whilst Haytham looked on- equally determined to think of an answer. His eyes moved to a candle, placed in the centre of the table, and watched as the flames danced and flickered in the air. Transfixed, but still focused on the task at hand, an idea struck him.

"It is possible, however, that if we were to-''

His words faded as he levelled his gaze with that of his followers. They were not listening to him, as he had expected, but were all staring at something behind him. They wore mixed expressions: Thomas looked on with a lascivious smile, and Charles glared angrily. The others seemed to be more curious than anything else. Almost reluctantly, Haytham regarded their looks one more time before turning to look behind his right shoulder, intrigued as to what could have inspired such an interest in his companions.

Looking up, his eyes widened slightly as they were met by those of Kira Lawrence. Of course it was her. He cursed himself silently for not having realised sooner, and also for not hearing her approach. He'd have to be more attentive to his surroundings next time. Pushing these thoughts away, he smiled, courteously.

"Miss Lawrence," He said, nodding his head slightly in greeting. "Can I be of assistance?" It was asked almost ironically, the exchanges between Templars and Assassins historically less civil.

Kira looked down at the man, ignorant of the varied looks she received from the other Templars. He'd looked irritated when he'd first looked at her, and it took her a moment to realise he was frustrated with himself. But now he stared up at her, unwaveringly. That self-assured demeanour of his that always seemed so impossible to breach, restored before her eyes, and in a matter of seconds. She suddenly felt vulnerable in front of the small assembly- all of her sworn enemies watching her every movement, and anticipating her reply. If they decided to attack her now, she wouldn't stand a chance.

"I need to speak with you." She addressed Haytham solely, and quickly added, "alone."

Haytham sensed her discomfort, and turning to look across the table at his companions, he could make an educated guess as to why. He nodded to them. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

He stood, turning away from them and facing Kira, gesturing towards the front door of the inn. "This way."

…

As Haytham closed the door behind them, Kira walked on a little before stopping and turning to face him. It was late in the evening, and the bustle of the streets had all but vanished, leaving a tranquil feel to the city. Everything was so quiet.

"Well?" Haytham's voice interrupted her thoughts. "What of the journal? Did you find it?"

She regarded him, suddenly lost for words. Most of her was still convinced that what she was doing was wrong. Instead of replying, she nodded, silently. She reached into her coat pocket and withdrew it reluctantly, as Haytham watched inquisitively. She held it in front of her, refusing to let her eyes part with it. The Templar soon realised she wasn't going to say anything.

"And you're willing to give it to me?" he prompted.

"No. Well yes, it's just…" She gestured in the air slightly with her free hand, as if trying to find the words she needed. Finally she met his gaze. "… I've read it through, at least a dozen times, and there's nothing there. What do you want from it?"

"It is in code," he answered, plainly. "Should you let me have it, it will be a while before we manage to successfully decode the information we are searching for. You're right, there is nothing of value as it stands."

"And say I were to give it to you, this information you so desperately seek- it would pose no threat to us? To my brotherhood?"

"No, you have my word."

She sighed, realising that despite both her instincts and judgement telling her to walk away, she was going to inevitably give it to him. She put this down to an unfortunate sense of curiosity, something that concerned her deeply. Still, having finally come to this decision, she asked one last question.

"This journal. How much is it worth to you? Would you value it more than my life?"

Haytham stood, confused by the meaning of her asking such a strange question. He couldn't see why it would matter to her. He decided to be truthful, and he frowned slightly as he answered. "Yes, I'd say so."

He'd expected her to be somewhat hurt by his response. Instead, she smiled, as if it were what she had wanted to hear.

"Good." She held the diary out to him. "Mr Kenway, the last time we spoke, you told me that I owed you my life. Perhaps it is true, perhaps not. Still, I cannot give you my life, so instead offer something of even higher value in recompense." She watched as he took it from her. "Consider all debts I may have had to you repaid. I do not want to see you on these or any other terms again, do you understand?"

"Perfectly, thank you." He nodded gratefully, somewhat amused by her words. He regarded her one last time. "Goodnight, Miss Lawrence."

And with that he disappeared back inside, leaving Kira watching after him, trying to persuade herself that she had made the right choice. And if not, knowing she would suffer under the consequences.


	7. Shay Patrick Cormac

There was only one day that Kira ever doubted her creed- and it was the day that Shay Cormac was killed. Now, as she stood, leaning her back against the wall of a blacksmith's, she reflected on that incident. A day rarely passed without her casting her mind back to when it happened, how it happened… She couldn't help but consider how perhaps, had she been there when Shay was killed, then perhaps the outcome would have been different. Every time she thought about it she felt almost overwhelmed with a sense of, what? Regret? Sadness? Anger? Guilt. Always guilt.

More than anything in the world though, she wished to know how it happened. Not only this- but why the Assassins killed Shay.

She was in New York on that day, and having returned, neither her mentor nor companions would tell her anything of what occurred. There were no reasons given, no questions answered. It was always the same. That 'Shay is dead', and that nothing more would be said. On numerous occasions since, she had pleaded with Achilles to tell her something- anything- to satisfy her. He was afraid, for some reason she could not understand, of speaking the truth. He didn't want her to know.

Kira supposed she wanted to know so that she could reassure herself. Reassure herself that it was for the best, or that there was nothing she could have done. Maybe then she wouldn't live with the burden of feeling that she had in some way betrayed Shay. She wasn't there when he needed her, despite him always being around when she needed him to be. He wouldn't have let her die, no matter what the circumstances were. He was her closest friend and someone she could always trust, always rely on. She only wished she could have somehow had an opportunity to thank him, for everything he had done for her, before he had died.

Suddenly something struck Kira on the shoulder, unbalancing her temporarily and awakening her from her thoughts. It was a man, passing by, who hadn't even realised he had knocked into her- that, or a man acting with a pretence of obliviousness to the fact his shoulder had collided with hers. He hurried on, and she cursed after him as she returned to her previous position against the wall. Having been so abruptly brought back to reality, she turned her attention to the street before her. Surveying the crowds, she could not see the person she was waiting for. Sighing, she let her eyes wonder over the mass of people, all crowded around the various stalls and shops that formed one of Boston's many small marketplaces.

Towards the end of the street, two men pushed their way- one with far more dignity than the other- through the crowds. Kira spotted them as soon as they came into sight.

Good. They were finally here.

…

"Now remember, Thomas, I need your constant surveillance over any black markets of which you are aware. If we are to progress any further in locating the precursor site, we will need to find the second amulet." Haytham spoke clearly, pausing only briefly as he stepped around a man conversing with another.

"But what happens if there ain't no second amulet to find?"

"William is fairly certain that there will be, rest assured."

Haytham listened as Thomas Hickey then responded- telling him of the various black markets, and reassuring him that he would do his utmost to trace the amulet, despite the fact that it may or may not exist. As he took note of what his companion was saying, he surveyed the marketplace before him. It was far busier than usual, and he hadn't a clue as to why. Summer was fast approaching, and Haytham observed the various crops and groceries for sale on the different stands, noticing their obtrusive quality. The farmers must be making the most of the good weather, he concluded, and that did explain why the marketplace was always so busy this time of the year.

Realising now that he had missed half of what Hickey had said, he turned his attention back to him. He was about to press him further on the matter of the elusive amulet when he heard, from nearby, a low whistle. Looking around, he seemed to be the only person to have heard it, and presumed that all others had disregarded the sound. He did not, and instead, stopped, and began to look around for the source of the noise. Suddenly it was repeated, and this time he was able to pinpoint it to an alley that lay close-by. By now Thomas had sensed his master's ignorance of his words, and he too stopped, looking inquisitively at Haytham.

"Sir?" he addressed him, cautiously.

"Go on ahead, Thomas. Expect me to join you shortly," Haytham replied, his eyes not leaving the alley.

Knowing that there was no point in questioning these words, the other Templar shrugged his shoulders, and then continued on through the marketplace. Having been left alone, Haytham glanced around carefully before beginning to tread, hesitantly, towards the alley. On nearing it, he noted how it seemed to be bare, and began to doubt whether this was truly the source of the whistle he had heard.

Rounding the corner of a blacksmith's to the entrance of the alley, he felt a sudden grip on his arm, which was then tugged violently to pull him further into the shadows of the side-street. Before he could prevent it he felt his back hit stone as he was thrust up against a wall, and his arms were pinned by the side of his head. He writhed fiercely to get free, and could sense the strain of whoever's grip was restraining him as they struggled to hold him in place. Finally, he allowed his eyes to look down and meet those of his attacker, and he momentarily stopped trying to break free as he realised to whom they belonged.

Kira glared at him as she somehow managed to keep him pinned to the wall. He was much stronger than her, past encounters had revealed, but with the element of surprise on her side, she found she had enough strength to hold him long enough for him to realise who she was. On seeing his expression change slightly, she realised he had acknowledged her, and allowed herself to weaken her grip on him marginally. It was a mistake, for as soon as she did, he pushed her aggressively away from him, causing her to stagger backwards, and giving him enough time to draw his sword and hold it up, warningly, towards her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spoke sternly, his sword steady.

She held her hands up quickly in a form of surrender, somewhat worried by the thought of fighting this man, and especially for her life. "Wait!" she beseeched, desperately.

"What for? You'd better have a damned good reason for this."

"I do, please, just…" She cast a glance towards the blade which was so dangerously near to her. "… I just want to talk."

His gaze hardened. "You made it clear you had no wish of talking."

"I know I did. But this is important," she pleaded.

He realised soon enough that she meant him no harm, and with a final warning glance, he sheathed his sword, whilst sighing impatiently.

"I am busy," he said, his voice no longer harsh, but still irate. "I've no intention of wasting my time here, with you."

"Look," she spoke, far more confidently without a blade being held towards her. "When you came to talk to me before at the inn, I had no reason to listen to you. But I did, so you could at least do the same for me."

He hesitated before speaking, a slight smile playing across his lips. "We're back to this again, are we? Owing each other?"

"You owe me nothing, nor I you. I'm simply asking you to show the same courtesy now that I showed you then."

He stood for a while, saying nothing, and seemingly pondering over whether to listen to her or not. After what felt like an hour to Kira, despite only being a matter of seconds, he seated himself on an upturned crate and rested his gaze on her.

"Go ahead. Whatever you wish to say, say it now," he commanded simply.

Now it was her turn to look indecisive. Truth be told, she hadn't expected- only hoped- to get this far, and having done so, she struggled to find the words she needed to ask him what she wanted to know. Having tossed the words around in her head for a few moments, she coolly returned his expectant gaze, and decided to ask him as straightforwardly as possible.

"What know you of Shay Cormac?"

He frowned, ever so faintly. "What anybody else knows. Have you anything in particular you wish to know?"

"You said to Pitcairn the other day that he was on his way here from Europe. Is this true?"

"Yes, what need would I have had to lie about that?"

"But…" Haytham noticed how lost she looked as she tried to finish the sentence. "Shay Cormac is dead. He died a long time ago. If what you say is true, then he would have to be alive."

"He is alive. Very much so. But your brotherhood discovered this years ago, not long after he was presumed dead."

"…They did?"

Her voice faltered, and suddenly feeling a mixture of emotions wash over her, she turned to look into space, her mind desperately seeking answers. It made no sense, that Shay had survived and that no one had informed her. Why would Achilles lie to her? Especially when he knew how much Shay had meant to her, and how heavily burdened she felt by his death. Her mentor would never lie to her, of that she was certain, but then again, what reason would Haytham have to lie to her now? They could not both be telling the truth, but why would either of them be lying?

"Miss Lawrence?" Haytham sensed her uncertainty, and in doing so, knew that she was probably judging the credibility of his words. It didn't surprise him, but still, all of a sudden he became anxious to have her believe him. After all, this was one of the rare occasions he was being sincere. She would be of no further use to him unless she trusted him- clearly something she was far from at present. And now, an opportunity had presented itself for him to start building such faith.

"Yes?" Kira responded, turning her eyes to him once more.

"Shay is due to arrive here two days from now. If you do not believe him to be alive, you are more than welcome to join me in meeting him at the docks."

Kira hesitated before replying immediately. For all she knew this was some sort of trap, and if so, then only God knew what the consequences of falling for it would be. Still, in her mind she concluded that any chance of seeing Shay alive was well worth the risk. She couldn't chance turning down the Templar's offer when he may be telling the truth.

"If what you say of Shay is true, then yes, I'd like to accompany you."

"Excellent. In two days' time, then, I will meet you there."

From the way he spoke, and from the way he looked at her, Kira knew she was doing exactly as Haytham wanted. Whatever grand plan he had, she was playing her part in it exactly as he desired her to. She didn't like it, but what else could she do? If it meant meeting with Shay again, then she had no other choice.


End file.
